Page 16 of The Spaniard's Wedding Revenge

Slowly, she turned to him, and his gaze was instantly drawn to the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her pretty face looked pale, her big violet-blue eyes shadowed. One hand was in the pocket of her black trousers—clutching that knife, no doubt.

A feeling he wasn’t expecting tightened in his chest. He ignored it, raising a brow at her. ‘Well? Any particular reason you’re late to your job interview?’

Her determined little chin lifted. ‘Because you distracted me in the library I didn’t get my work done on time, so I had to make it up at the end of the day.’

He almost laughed. She did like testing him, didn’t she? ‘I see. Nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I caught you reading, hmm?’

Colour bloomed across her delicate cheekbones. ‘No.’

Which was an outright lie and they both knew it.

Highly amused, he grinned. ‘And you took some time to go back to your room for you knife, also, I think?’

Her forearm flexed above where her hand disappeared into her pocket, as if she was squeezing her fingers around the handle of something. But this time she didn’t deny it.

‘You said I could bring it.’

‘It’s true. I did.’

He got up from the chair and came around the side of his desk, noting the way she tensed at his approach. She was very wary of him. As wary as she’d been the night before. Understandable, of course, and it was an obvious sign of distrust. In fact, he could probably gauge her progression in trusting him through the way she acted around him physically.

It made him wonder, though, exactly what had happened to her out there on the Parisian streets. How she’d managed to survive. What had happened to Hélène? Why hadn’t she gone to her father and told him she was still alive...?

So many questions.

If he wanted answers, he had some work to do.

He moved over to the fireplace against one wall, opposite the bookshelves. He’d had one of his staff light a fire even though it wasn’t particularly cold, mainly because it made the room feel more welcoming. The fire crackled pleasantly, casting its orange glow over Leonie’s beautiful hair.

She watched him as if he was a dangerous animal she had to be cautious about, yet her gaze kept flicking to the fire as if she wanted to get close to it. As if she was cold.

‘You’re afraid of me,’ he said, and didn’t make it a question. ‘I can assure you that you have no need to be.’

Her gaze flickered. ‘I’m not afraid.’

But the response sounded as if it had been made by rote—as if that was always her answer, whether it was true or not. It made sense, though. When you were small and female you were viewed as prey by certain people, which meant fear wasn’t something you could afford. Fear was weakness. Especially when there was no one to protect you.

Had she ever had anyone to protect her? Or had she had to do it herself?

That tight feeling in his chest shifted again. It had been such a long time since he’d felt anything remotely resembling pity or sympathy that he wasn’t sure what it was at first. But then he knew. He didn’t like the idea of her being on her own. He didn’t like the idea of her not being protected. How strange.

‘Then come closer.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets so he looked less intimidating. ‘You want to be near the fire. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.’

She didn’t like that—he could see the tension ripple through her. Perhaps he was wrong to test her. But if he wanted her trust he had to start somewhere, and having her be less wary around him physically was certainly one way of doing it.

He remained still, not moving, keeping his hands in his pockets, silently daring her. She was brave, not to mention stubborn, and he suspected that if he kept challenging her she’d rise to it.

Sure enough, after a couple of tense moments, she gave a shrug, as if it didn’t matter, and then came slowly across the room to stand on the opposite side of the fireplace. Her expression was carefully blank, and when she got closer to the flames she held out her hands to warm them.

Ostensibly she looked as if nothing bothered her and she was perfectly comfortable. But she wasn’t. He could feel the tension vibrating in the air around her.

She was like a wild animal, ready to start at the slightest sound or motion.

‘There,’ he murmured. ‘That’s not so bad, is it?’

She flicked him an impatient look. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I have a knife.’

‘Good. Keep that knife about your person at all times.’ He turned slightly, noting how she tensed at his movement. ‘So, namelessgatita. I suppose my first question to you is why on earth were you spray-painting my limo at two in the morning?’

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